


The Golden Rule

by doylesmom



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Background Byleth, Background Caspar, Background Hubert, Background Lorenz, F/F, Modern AU, NB Byleth, Please Forgive me, Ultra rare pair Big Bang, author knows almost nothing about how the fashion industry works, background Claudeleth because of who I am as a person, coffee shop AU, fashion - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26241058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doylesmom/pseuds/doylesmom
Summary: She’s beautiful, but the attitude and the coffee order make her totally unlikeable, in Hilda’s eyes. No liking asshole customers allowed. It’s, like, the food service golden rule.Ah well. She’s not a regular, so at least Hilda doesn’t have to worry about ever seeing her again.
Relationships: Hilda Valentine Goneril/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 3
Kudos: 71
Collections: 2020 Ultra Rarepair Big Bang





	The Golden Rule

**Author's Note:**

> WAHHHHHH it’s finally here!
> 
> Special thanks to the mods for putting this event on, [my partner](https://twitter.com/seaistea?s=21) for her art, and Robin for smacking me with a newspaper every time I started to doubt this fic. Also for being the world’s best beta.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Have a nice night, Hilda,” Sean says as he finishes handing over the last of her bags.

“Thanks, Sean.” Hilda nods to the delivery boy before kicking the door shut. He’s a cute kid, but she knows that just knowing his name is going to spur a reaction from her brother.

“Ooooooh, does someone have a boyfriend?” Holst calls from his spot on the couch, his shit eating grin wide and unnecessarily teasing. 

“No, you troll,” Hilda rolls her eyes and drops his bag of food on his stomach, feeling somewhat vindicated by the huff of air that escapes him. “I just order an obscene amount of Indian food.”

“Ugh, you’re boring,” Holst pouts. “Do you need relationship advice? Because I can give you some relationship advice.”

“Not on your life, pal,” Hilda snipes, taking her seat next to him on the threadbare orange couch. It’s a horrendous color, but she’s a broke ass grad student;she’ll take what she can get. “The last person I need love advice from is someone who has been divorced twice at the age of thirty-two.”

“Why do you and dad always have to bring that up?” Holst whines, fiddling with the remote to turn their show back on. The two main characters gaze longingly at each other on screen, desperately in love but destined to be apart, or some drivel like that. To be honest, Hilda isn’t sure what show they’re even watching— she’s been busy trading loving best friend insults with Claude.

Hilda settles further into the couch and pops open her delivery box, the radiant smells of chicken korma and garlic naan soothing away her stress for a moment. It’s nice, being together with Holst like this. Work and classes and the unending research surrounding her thesis seem to take up her every waking moment, to the point where she realizes that this is the first time in over a month she’s seen her brother. She memorizes the moment— the smell of the food, the music on the TV, the wistful look on Holst’s face as he no doubt dreams of his newest paramour. She memorizes it, files it away for the next time she needs a mental escape from work, school, her thesis.

Holst sighs, breaking her out of her moment.

“Listen, Hilly,” he says, pausing the show. “There’s a reason I came to bother you today.”   
  
A pang of anxiety shoots through her at his words.

“What’s up?” she asks, fingers twitching as she waits for his response.

“Dad isn’t doing well,” he finally says. “You and I both know that. So I’ve decided to move back home, to help him out.”

Ah.

“I know it’s not Garreg Mach,” he says with a wry smile, “But I’m sure he’d love to have you back home. Our city isn’t as big or luxurious, but I’m sure you can find a job—”

“Holst,” Hilda sighs. “I can’t. You know I can’t. If I want to succeed in the fashion industry, I have to get my start here.”

Holst smiles at her, warm and loving as always.

“I know, Hilly. But I ship out in eight weeks, so if you change your mind at all…”

“I’ll let you know, Holst,” she tells him with a small smile. 

But she knows she won’t change her mind.

* * *

“And then get this, he has the audacity to complain about how badly his back hurts!” Hilda gripes, giving the nozzle she’s wiping down an especially aggressive wipe. “Like, go sleep on your own couch, then!”

Claude shoots her a bemused look.

“And where is Holst now?” he asks, tone teasing. Hilda sighs.

“Asleep on my bed,” she admits. 

“You know,” he says, poking her in the ribs, “for someone who complains about her brother so much, you’re really entirely too soft on him.”

Hilda swats his hand away with a snort.

“It’s called having a healthy sibling relationship,” she shrugs, “Something you wouldn’t know about.”

Claude laughs, moving to go open his register. Hilda can see a line forming at the door already.

“Okay, okay, you got me there,” he chuckles, sifting through bills.

“Are we ready to open yet?” their manager calls from their office. Byleth pokes their head out, hair mussed and eyes dead. They’re an odd creature, but they also let Hilda sit and play on her phone when the store is dead, so in her opinion they’re the best manager she’s ever had. 

“Almost, boss!” Claude says, pushing his drawer closed with a wink. Byleth doesn’t blush, per se— Hilda isn’t sure they can emote like that— but they definitely give Claude  _ A Look _ , which Hilda tucks away to harass him about later.

Byleth ambles past them, and unlocks the door.

The breakfast rush begins.

Mochas, lattes, hot chocolates, iced teas, frappuccinos, large americanos, extra whip, two pumps of caramel, decaf, a side of cream. Orders blend together in a monotonous hum of harried business people and sleep deprived college students. Hilda and Claude work together in well-practiced harmony, switching between registers and coffee machines, order taking and blenders. It’s a time that seems to last forever, and yet passes by in a blur.

And then she appears.

She’s beautiful, elegant. Petite, though Hilda isn’t one to talk, with hair the color of starlight and eyes like lavender. Her fingers are slim and graceful, her lips the color of cherry blossoms and her red power suit is absolutely from the latest line out of Von Hresvelg, the most elite fashion houses in Adrestia.

“Hold on, Hubert,” she says, pressing a finger against her earpiece, “I’m about to order.”

“Hi, what can I get for you today?” Hilda manages to say without stumbling. The woman glances over their menu for a moment.

“I’ll have a medium caramel iced latte in a large cup, equal parts whole milk, almond milk, soy milk, double vanilla syrup, caramel in the cup but not on top of the drink, whipped cream and cinnamon on top,” she says.

Hilda feels her brain short circuit for a moment.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” she asks weakly. The woman raises a brow.

“A medium caramel iced latte in a large cup, equal parts whole milk, almond milk, soy milk, double vanilla syrup, caramel in the cup but not on top of the drink, whipped cream and cinnamon on top,” she says once again.

Ah, so Hilda hadn’t been hallucinating.

The woman raises her other brow and coughs pointedly. Hilda puts on her best customer service smile and takes the snidely proffered cash, reminding herself that throwing change at people is technically considered bad customer service.

Claude shoots her an odd look as the order pops up on his screen, but Hilda does her best not to outwardly react.

“Have a nice day!” she says as cheerfully as she can. The woman doesn’t reply, walking off to wait for her coffee instead.

Hilda sighs. She’s beautiful, but the attitude and the coffee order make her totally unlikeable, in Hilda’s eyes. No liking asshole customers allowed. It’s, like, the food service golden rule.

Ah well. She’s not a regular, so at least Hilda doesn’t have to worry about ever seeing her again.

* * *

“Every day,” Hilda moans, face buried in her arms. “How is it possible that I’ve seen her at work  _ every day _ .”

“She comes in on your off days, too,” Claude says, swirling a fry around in his ketchup puddle. Super gross. Who eats that much ketchup, anyways? “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she has a crush on you.”

“Ugh, stop,” Hilda makes a face. “I just finished eating. Also, way to sound like my brother.”

“Maybe your brother has a point then, Hilda,” Lorenz chimes in unhelpfully, tossing his stupidly pretty hair over his shoulder. “You sound super hung up on this woman. Either she likes you or you’re repressing.”

“I hate you both,” Hilda says, slapping a twenty down on the table. “So much. More than anything.”

“See you at my place for dinner?” Claude asks, putting another unnecessarily large swab ketchup on his fries.

“Yeah,” Hilda sighs, “I’ll bring the beer.”

“You’re the best, Hilda!” Claude calls after her. She waves him off with a small smile. Absolutely obnoxious, her boys, but she really can’t imagine life without them. But she’s got class in half an hour, and though her building is only a five minutes’ walk from the food court, she likes getting to class early.

Which of course means that when somebody runs smack into her, spilling lukewarm coffee all over her and knocking her to the ground, she has nobody to blame but herself.

“Are you alright?” the other voice asks. It’s strong, feminine, strangely familiar.

Hilda looks up, and her jaw drops. Standing over her, hand outstretched and brows furrowed in confusion, is the woman from the coffee shop.

“You!” Hilda gasps. The woman looks confused for a moment, brow furrowing before recognition brightens her eyes.

“Oh! You’re the cashier at Golden Brews!” she says, her voice taking on an odd tone. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“It’s alright,” Hilda says, getting to her feet. “Ugh, but my shirt is stained now,” she sighs. Looks like she’ll be skipping class to try and get the stain out.

“Oh, no, please let me help with that,” the woman says, reaching into her purse to pull out a card. “Please, take it here, have them put it on my tab.”

Hilda looks down at the proffered card, taking it to get a closer look. A black and red embossed card, it reads ‘ _ For all your cleaning needs, call on Caspar’s Cleaners! _ ’’

Hilda looks back up, but the woman has walked off, disappeared into the crowd of students and staff. She realizes, then, that even if she wants to take advantage of the absurdly kind offer— after all, she had thrifted the shirt, it wasn’t designer or anything— she has one little problem.

She doesn’t know the woman’s name.

* * *

Caspar’s Cleaners is a small, squat building tucked away in a back alley just a few blocks down from Eagle Park. The inside of the building is clean, bright, and smells almost too strongly of citrus.

It is also empty.

“Hello?” Hilda calls, searching for a bell to ring or a button to press. She can hear the sound of movement in the back, but she can’t see anyone. She looks down at the stained shirt slung over her arm. Should she just leave it? But then how would they know to put it on the woman’s tab? Perhaps she should return later.

As she turns to leave, the door to the backroom flies open.

“Wait, wait, I’m here!” the man calls. Hilda turns. He’s taller than her, muscular, and sweating. His teal hair sticks to his forehead. “Sorry, I was working out, didn’t expect anyone at this time of day. I’m Caspar, what can I do for you?”

Hilda blinks away her confusion and clears her throat.

“I, uh, have a shirt that needs cleaning,” she tells this Caspar guy. “I was told to put it on someone’s tab, but, uh, I don’t know her name.”

If this is odd to him, he doesn’t show it. Instead, Caspar smiles widely.

“Sure thing! Can you describe her for me? If she’s a regular I’ll probably know her face,” he says, giving her a thumbs up. Hilda does her best not to raise her brows at the gesture.

“About my height, white hair, purple eyes, holier-than-thou attitude, obscene coffee orders,” Hilda says. She wants to say more, about the way the woman’s eyes flash in the sun, the faint smell of floral perfume, the curve of her waist. But she doesn’t know this man, and she really should not be noticing these things about someone who she has sworn to dislike.

“Oh, you must mean El!” Caspar says, holding out his hands to take her stained shirt. Hilda hands it over easily. “Yeah, I’ll stick it on her tab.”

El.

The woman’s name is El.

* * *

It is, in fact, possible to get a headache from staring at fabric samples for too long. Hilda’s eyes are beginning to swim as she looks up from her desk, wincing as her neck pops. It’s four o’clock on a Sunday, and she’s stuck inside, working on her portfolio. Lorenz and Claude had tried to coax her out earlier with promises of bad reality television and overpriced beer, but she’s been procrastinating for entirely too long at this point. The deadline to submit her portfolio for fashion house internships is fast approaching, and she knows that her advisor won’t let her submit it late.

Asshole.

Her stomach decides to loudly complain as well, reminding her with an audible grumble that she hasn’t technically eaten yet today. She knows what’s in her fridge— a jar of jelly, coffee creamer, four cans of beer, and possibly sentient leftover macaroni and cheese. 

Takeout it is.

She pulls out her phone to place a takeout order at her favorite Thai place. It’s about five blocks from her apartment, but the sun is shining and the air is cool and normally she hates walking places but it gives her an excuse to take a long break from her work so she sucks it up and makes the trek. She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that the fresh air felt nice, slowly beginning to melt away the iceberg of stress in her mind.

The restaurant is slow when she arrives, the low hum of conversation and the smell of chili pepper and lemongrass welcoming her in like an old friend. It’s a quiet place, family owned, and Hilda feels her mouth begin to salivate as she makes her way to the counter to pick up her order. There’s a woman in front of her in line, with long, white hair and—

“El?” she says, the word escaping her before she can contain it. The woman turns, and sure enough it’s her— El.

“Oh, hello,” El says. 

“I almost didn’t recognize you with your hair down,” Hilda says. 

“Yes, I typically wear it up,” El says. It’s both awkward and endearing, the way she says it. Her speech is ridiculously formal, Hilda has come to notice, which would normally drive her nuts (“Really,” she had complained to Claude, “she talks like a Victorian era ghost child. It’s weird!”) but Hilda can see how El glances to the side, the tips of her ears flushing pink. So she’s socially awkward.

It’s kind of… cute.

_ No, no, bad thoughts! No gay feelings for the annoying customer, Hilda! _

“I would like to apologize again for spilling my coffee on your shirt,” El says, drawing Hilda out of her traitorous thoughts. “It was really quite clumsy of me.”

“It’s fine, really.” Hilda waves her off. “It happens. Besides, you’re paying for my dry cleaning, which is more than enough apology for me.”

“Oh, were you able to find Caspar’s alright?” El asks, taking a bag from the cashier and thanking him. Her lavender eyes turn back to Hilda, who suddenly finds that she has a strong urge to look elsewhere.

“Yeah, yeah, that was the easy part,” Hilda says, putting on the most unbothered air she can manage. “The tricky part was that I didn’t know your name. Luckily Caspar figured it out, but you really should tell people things like that before disappearing,” she finishes with a chuckle and wink, and finds that El has a more than pleasing reaction to it.

_ Bad Hilda! Stop it! _

“Oh, my, I am so sorry about that,” El groans, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “I was surprised to hear you call me El, but that explains it.”

“Really?” Hilda says, fishing out her credit card to pay for her food. The cashier smiles at her, she nods politely back. “Why is that?”

“It’s what my friends call me,” El says, almost shyly. 

“Oh! I’m sorry, I can—” Hilda begins, but El shakes her head, cutting Hilda off.

“No, it’s quite alright. Please, call me El.” El holds out her hand then, and despite herself Hilda takes it. It’s callused, warm, a firm grip. 

“Hilda,” she replies. The cashier hands Hilda her order, and she almost feels a pang of regret as she lets go of El’s hand.

“Ah, would you mind if I got your phone number?” El asks as Hilda turns back to face her. “I can pick up your shirt for you, drop it off when Caspar’s done with it.”

She shouldn’t. Hilda barely knows El. They’ve spoken outside of coffee orders only twice now, and for all Hilda knows the woman could be a mega creep. She’s pretty sure there’s something in the employee handbook about giving your number to customers, too.

She gives El her number anyways.

* * *

“Why am I so  _ gay _ , Claude?” Hilda groans, burying her face in her hands. “Why am I like this?” 

Claude, being the unhelpful asshole that he is, just laughs.

“It’s not fair!” she exclaims. “Women are too pretty! That has to be illegal somehow!”

“Actually—” Byleth begins, poking their head out of their office, only to be interrupted by the shrill screeching of Hilda’s phone.

“God, woman, change your ringtone already,” Claude hisses, covering his ears with his hands. 

“No,” Hilda sniffs, pressing the accept button. “Hello?”

“Hilda, hi.” It’s her advisor. “I’m calling about the results of your applications.”

Her breath catches. Claude and Byleth notice the change in her expression, and lean in closer. Her advisor explains the results, explains her options. Hilda thanks her, ends the call.

The world goes silent.

“I got accepted,” Hilda whispers. “To three different internships.”

The world explodes.

Claude cheers loudly, scooping her up and spinning her around in a hug, laughing as she alternates between cheering and laughing and demanding to be put down. He puts her down, and Byleth lightly pats her back and does their near-smile thing and oh, dang it, she’s going to cry. Years of study and work and blood, sweat, and tears and she’s finally on her way and—

“I have to call Holst!” she gasps, whirling to grab her phone off of the table. Claude winks and hands it to her, and she sees that a call has already begun. Holst picks up.

“I did it!” she cries into the phone. “I did it, I did it, I did it! I got three acceptances!”

“Congratulations, Hilda,” comes the smooth feminine voice on the other line. “What were you applying to?”

A beat.

  
Two.

She brings her phone down, glances at the name of the person on the other end.

_ El _

“I am so sorry,” Hilda whispers, horror lacing through her voice. “This call was supposed to be to my brother.”

She turns to shoot a look at Claude, but he and Byleth have conveniently disappeared. Shame, she’ll just have to strangle him with his own entrails later.

“You’re quite alright,” El says with amusement. “So, Hilda, what did you get accepted to?”

“Well,” Hilda says, trying to ignore the way that her spine shivered when El said her name, “I got accepted for internships at three different fashion houses.”

“Hilda,” El says, her voice taking on an odd tone, “That’s incredible. As someone in the industry myself I must offer you my highest congratulations. Please, allow me to take you out to dinner to celebrate.”

“El, please, that’s not necessary,” Hilda laughs nervously, her face burning.

“I insist,” El says, her confident voice short circuiting Hilda’s brain for several long moments. 

In the end, all she can do is accept.

“Okay,” Hilda says. “It’s a date.”   
  


“Excellent, I’ll text you the details later,” El replies, the triumphant tone to her voice positively enchanting. She hangs up.

Wait.

_ A date? _

* * *

A date?

A date?

Had she really told El it would be a date?

“You are  _ way _ overthinking this, Hilly,” Hoslt drawls from where he sprawls across her couch. “It’s just a thing people say.”

“Maybe for you,” she snaps at him. “But I don’t just go around saying that! Especially not to attractive women!”

“So you admit, you find her attractive.” Holst smirks, wagging a finger at her. Hilda groans and resists the urge to blow a raspberry at him, choosing instead to stomp very maturely to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

“Get out of my apartment!” she yells at him through the door, before flopping onto her bed. The cool press of her sheets against her heated skin in soothing, calming, and yet still her heart pounds away in her chest, a rattling rhythm of truth against her ribcage.

She can’t deny it any longer. She has broken her sacred oath to hate all obnoxious customers.

She’s definitely got a thing for El.

And really, who could blame her? True, they’d only spoken a few times but the woman was attractive, intriguing, and much more generous than she appeared. 

Could anyone really blame Hilda for her piqued curiosity?

Ugh, no use ruminating over the inevitable. Hilda sighs and rolls off of her bed, making her way back out to her living room to apologize to Holst for being an ass. The room is empty, though, by the time she makes it out there.

Ah, well. He’s in town for another month, still. She’ll see him again.

Her phone buzzes.

_ El [6:52pm]: Your shirt is done. Would you like me to drop it off at your apartment? _

Okay, she should definitely not be giving her address out, especially considering that El is technically a customer, but…

_ Hilda [6:53pm]: Sure, here’s my address _

* * *

El arrives fifteen minutes later, dressed impeccably and looking like she’s just come from a board meeting or a runway or a fancy dinner or some other event that would require her to dress to the nines. Hilda would be lying if she said that her mouth didn’t water just a little bit.

“Come on in,” she says to El, who accepts, graciously. “Let me put my shirt away. Do you want anything to drink? Coffee, sparkling water, regular water?”

“Water would be lovely.” El smiles, brushing a stray strand of silvery hair behind her ear. Hilda cannot help but to smile back, and hurries to her room to hang her shirt up. When she returns, she sees El peering over her desk. Her desk where her design pad is sitting open.

Hilda squeaks.

El looks up from the pad, smiling lightly.

“I hope I haven’t crossed a boundary,” she says, gesturing to the pad, “But I saw it laying open and…”

Hilda hesitates for a moment.

“Sure,” she acquiesces, turning towards the kitchen to grab some waters, “help yourself.”

She tries to ignore the trembling in her fingers as she fills the glasses. Okay, so a customer/maybe friend/ _ something _ interest was browsing through her designs. That’s fine. She’s going to be a professional someday, after all. She’ll just have to get used to strangers- attractive or otherwise- browsing through her designs.

Hilda steels herself, and returns to the living room.

El has taken a seat on the couch that just a while earlier had housed Holst. Her brows are furrowed as she flips through Hilda’s design book, humming to herself as she looks over Hilda’s work.

“You said you got accepted to three fashion houses for internships?” El asks as Hilda places their waters down on the coffee table.

“Yes, I did,” Hilda confirms, smiling lightly as a hint of victory once again shoots through her veins.

“I can see why,” El says with a smile. “You are incredibly talented, Hilda.”

And oh, but the way those words sink into her skin, flushing Hilda’s cheeks and pricking at her eyes.

“Thank you,” she manages to say before reaching for her water. She takes a long drink as she attempts to regain her composure. El takes a sip as well. If she notices how Hilda reacts to the praise, she’s kind enough to not say anything about it.

“Which houses did you get accepted to?” El asks once Hilda has put her water down.

“Fhirdiad, Golden Stag, and Von Hresvelg,” Hilda responds, pride leaking through her words. El’s eyebrows shoot up.

“That’s incredible, Hilda!” she says, a strange look passing across her face. “Truly a reason to celebrate next weekend.”

Hilda laughs nervously, scratching at the back of her neck.

“About that,” she says. “Before we hung up, I may have, uh, said—”

“‘It’s a date’,” El quotes, a soft smile crossing her face. “Yes, I recall.”

_ Deep breath, Hilda, you’ve got this. _

“Well, I was wondering if…” Hilda begins, trailing off for a moment as her gaze catches on El’s purple eyes.

“If?” El asks, her voice soft and kind and gosh darn it Hilda just go for it!

“If you’d like for it to be, like, an actual date,” Hilda tries not to whisper.

El’s smile grows.

“I would like that very much.” 

* * *

“Holst, do you know where my silver heels are?” Hilda calls, digging through her closet.

“Why would I know that?” He yells back.

“Because I know you go through my closet!” Hilda pokes her head out of her bedroom and shoots him a narrow eyed glare. He shrugs and returns to his television program- some recap of a recent celebrity event. Hilda grunts in frustration, returning to dig through her closet. They’re around here somewhere, she’s sure of it.

Her phone begins to scream.

“Change your ringtone, Satan!” Holst yells.

“Hello,” she says, brows furrowing as she looks over the strewn about contents of her closet once again.

“Hilda, hi, I wanted to talk to you,” her advisor says, an odd tone to her voice. “Something has come up with one of your internships.”   
  
Hilda stops, her blood freezing in her veins, heart coming to a terrifying, screeching, stop.

“What is it?” she asks, unable to hide the tremble in her voice.

“I was just contacted by an HR rep from Von Hresvelg,” her advisor says, as soothingly as possible, “And there’s been a change to their offer.”

“A change?” Hilda’s heart restarts. A change. Not a rescinding, but a change?

“Yes.” Her advisor pauses for a moment. “Hilda, they want to hire you on. Full time.”

A beat.

Two.

Three.

“What?” is all that Hilda is able to manage. 

“Yeah, that was my reaction too,” her advisor chuckles. “But apparently somehow the CEO herself saw your work and wants you part of the team immediately.”

_ What? _

“How is that possible?” Hilda whispers, half to herself.

“I don’t know, but Hilda, I wouldn’t look this gift horse in the mouth, if I were you,” her advisor warns. “You don’t have to accept right now, but I’ll need a decision from you soon.”

She hangs up with a click, before Hilda can formulate a coherent thought. 

A job offer from Von Hresvelg before she’s even graduated. It’s like her wildest dream come true. 

And yet, she can’t shake the feeling that something is amiss. 

Holst notices that something’s up as soon as she wobbles into his sight. He doesn’t have to ask. She tells him. 

“That’s a good thing, though, isn’t it?” he questions, pausing his program on tv. “I mean, Hilly, this is incredible.”

“Yes, but something feels off,” she tells him, resisting the urge to bite at her nails like she did as a child. “Like, how did the CEO get her hands on my work? And I thought the CEO of Von Hresvelg was Ionius von Hresvelg? There’s just so much I don’t understand, Holst.”

She feels her breath quicken in her chest, her fingers begin to tremble. She hasn’t had a panic episode in years, but suddenly she feels as though she’s staring down a tidal wave of confusion, worry, uncertainty. Holst grabs her wrist, gently pulling her down onto the couch next to him.

“Here, maybe this will help,” he tells her, turning back to the television. “The CEO was just on a few minutes ago.”

He presses rewind, and Hilda lets her eyes drift shut for just a moment, collecting her thoughts and calming her heart. After all, she has a date soon. Wouldn't want to show up disheveled and distressed. 

“Ah, here she is,” Holst says. Hilda opens her eyes. 

The tidal wave crashes. 

* * *

By the time she reaches El’s— no,  _ Edelgard’s _ — apartment, Hilda’s panic has morphed into rage. She knows she must make quite an image, striding angrily through the city, done up in her best dress and power heels, but for the first time in a very long time she finds that she doesn’t have the mental attitude to care about her appearance. 

She rings the doorbell to the brownstone townhouse. Edelgard opens the door. 

“Hilda!” she begins. “Welcome to my—”

“Were you planning on telling me?” Hilda spits. She watches confusion cloud Edelgard’s face with a petty, vicious sort of joy. “Or were you just going to wait until I showed up for my first day?”

“What—” 

Hilda refuses to let her get a word in.

“I mean, what is this, some sort of quid pro quo thing? Huh? Is that what you’re trying to pull here?” Hilda hisses, raising a finger to jab in Edelgard’s face, watching as realization sets in. “Fuck you and you’ll give me a career? Be your pretty little play thing and dance on a string for you and maybe someday I can harass college students too?”

“Hilda that’s not—”

“Well guess what,  _ Edelgard _ ?” Hilda is crying now, eyes burning as she takes a step back, then another. “You can find someone else to stalk, someone else to taunt. I’m done with you and your games and your company. Maybe I’ll never make it in fashion now, but at least I’ll have my pride.”

Hilda turns and leaves before Edelgard can say anything. As though the universe is in a cruel mood, the skies open up and begin to pour, soaking Hilda to the bone. She tries not to scream in frustration, ducking under a store awning to pull out her phone to request an Uber. 

One missed text. 

_ Holst [7:14pm]: Dad’s in the hospital. It’s bad. I’m going home.  _

She dials Claude, the back and forth of violent emotion in her chest and the cold autumn air freezing her fingers to the bone as she holds the phone up to her ear. 

“Claude?” she sobs. “I need you to come get me.”

* * *

When she comes back to herself, she’s sitting in a waiting room in Riegan General Hospital. Holst is nowhere to be seen, but his jacket is draped over her shoulders, so she knows he’s here, at least. 

A cup of coffee enters her line of sight. 

“It’s isn’t as good as ours, but it will do,” Claude tells her. She takes it from him gratefully. The smell of it is off putting, but the heat grounds her. 

“How long have we been here?” she croaks, her voice raw. Claude glances down at his watch. 

“About two hours now,” he tells her. “Holst is with your dad right now. Also, I had to turn your phone off. It rang for about the entire car ride here, but I didn’t want to scare any of the nurses.”

He grins at her, and she doesn’t quite manage to smile back but it’s a close thing. 

“So, want to tell me why your phone has been committing eardrum murder for over six hours?” he asks teasingly. 

She pulls her phone from the pocket of Holst’s jacket. 

Two percent battery life remaining. Forty nine missed calls from El. Seventeen voicemails. 

She sighs and leans back in her seat. 

“You have a charger on you?” she asks Claude. He nods and pulls one out of his coat pocket. 

“So,” he says as she plugs in her phone, “What happened? You were more of a mess than I expected when I picked you up.”

Hilda tells him everything. El in her apartment, the budding excitement, the desire to learn more about this enigmatic woman, the realization that she actually really liked El. The call from her advisor. The truth revealed to her at the worst- or perhaps best- possible moment. 

The confrontation. 

Claude says nothing, waiting for her to finish emotionally dumping on him before he replies. 

“I think,” he says, “tThat you should call her back and tell her everything you just told me. Maybe it’ll be the final match that burns this bridge, but I don’t think it’s a conversation you can or should avoid.”

Hilda groans. 

“I hate it when you’re right,.” she tells him. He smiles at her again, and this time she smiles back. 

Her phone begins to ring. 

“Go talk to your girlfriend,” he winks at her. “I’ll wait here.”

She smacks his shoulder, but answers the phone anyways, pulling it off of the charger to walk to the other end of the waiting room.

“Hilda, thank goodness, are you alright?” El’s frantic voice tumbles through the speaker, like she can’t get the words out fast enough. “You left and it was raining and then you didn’t answer the phone and I started getting worried—”

“I’m fine,.” Hilda cuts her off. “I’m back home, in Riegan.”

“Riegan?”

“My dad’s in the hospital,.” sShe explains. “He’ll be fine but I needed to return for a while.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,.” El says carefully. “Listen, Hilda, about what happened—”

“I’m sorry for snapping at you like that,.” Hilda cuts her off again. If she doesn’t get it out now, she’s not sure she’ll ever be able to. “But you have to understand that what you did was not okay. Maybe you didn’t mean to lie to me, but by not telling me who you are the moment you learned I got accepted was a lie by omittance. And then to offer me a full time position?”

“I was wrong to do that,” El admits, her voice soft, tired. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“No,” Hilda agrees, “You weren’t. And then by offering me a dream job, only to learn who you are by myself? It hurt. A lot.”

El says nothing.

“It made me feel like my work had no meaning, no value,” Hilda continues, her eyes drifting over to where Claude is doing his best to appear as though he isn't eavesdropping. “Like the only reason I got accepted in the first place was because you had the hots for me.”

“That’s not true,” El cuts in. Hilda wishes she could see El’s face right now, look into her eyes and watch them gleam as she speaks. “I wasn’t lying when I said that you’re an incredibly talented designer, Hilda. I have no involvement or authority over the intern hiring process.”

Hilda feels a bit better at that, but it’s still not enough.

“That’s fine,” she says, “bBut Edelgard you have to realize that you broke my trust. I know we haven’t known each other for that long, but I really liked you. I want to like you. I really do. But my trust in you is broken.”

Her heart aches as she says it, but it feels good to say. Right. If she’s going to do this, she’s going to do it with full honesty and transparency.

“What can I do to fix this?” El asks, nearly begging. Hilda smiles. 

“You can start by rescinding your offer,.” sShe tells El.

“Consider it done,.” El says. “What else?”

“I’m going to have to stay in Riegan for a bit,” Hilda shoots Claude a victorious wink. He gives her a big thumbs up. “But when I come back to Garreg Mach, I’d like to talk about this more face to face. Talk about us more face to face.”

“Us?” tThe word slips from El reverently, disbelievingly. She fumbles for her words as she continues. “Ah, yes, I’d like that. Very much. To talk. And also for there to be an, uh, ‘us’.”

“I think,” Hilda says, “That I would like that too.”

* * *

It’s hot in Enbarr. 

Which, okay, it’s summer. Of course it’s hot. But Hilda is spoiled rotten by the cooling sea breezes in Derdiu, she knows. In Enbarr, though, it’s a windless, humid day, which is probably its own special kind of hell.

The doors to the Von Hresvelg headquarters slide open soundlessly, and she nearly moans at the blast of cold air. 

Hilda glides through the building with an air of purpose. The receptionist smiles at her. She’s been a frequent guest these past five years, enough so that she doesn’t even need to present an ID or say where she’s going. The elevator doors open as she approaches, and she waves the girl her thanks. 

It’s a smooth ride to the top floor, but it gives her just enough time to triple check her appearance in the mirrored walls.

The doors open, and she’s met by a scowling face. 

“Hubie!” She squeals, tossing her arms around the stoic man. “You look extra menacing today, buddy. How’s the husband?”

Hubert doesn’t respond, but that’s just how he is, so Hilda doesn’t take offense to it. Her gaze slides to the door behind him, and then back to his face. 

He nods. 

Hilda detaches herself from the tall gargoyle of a man, and bursts through the door, purposefully ‘forgetting’ to knock. 

“Hilda,” El’s eye twitches. “What have I told you about knocking?”

Hilda makes her way around El’s desk, leaning down to press a kiss to the other woman’s forehead. 

“Hm, I can’t recall.” She giggles. El rolls her eyes fondly. Irritation is such a cute look on her. 

“It’s a wonder Golden Stag hasn’t fired you yet if this is how you act in a professional setting.” El teases. Hilda laughs and throws her arms around El as best she can with the desk chair in the way. 

“I’m their favorite, they’d never fire me.” She beams, her mind drifting for a moment to the resignation letter sitting on her now empty desk. “Now, how about we get this anniversary date started?”

El smiles and untangles herself from Hilda’s grasp. 

“I wish you would tell me what we’re doing.” She says, looking over Hilda’s outfit for a clue as to what the evening will entail. 

Hilda thinks of the ring in her pocket, and smiles. 

“Why don’t we start,” she says, “With coffee.”

**Author's Note:**

> For those wondering- Hilda’s ringtone is a loud, singular high pitched tone that doesn’t end. Aka my former ringtone. It was changed against my will, and I’m too lazy to change it back.


End file.
